


Heather Gray

by TheWitchBoy



Series: Angst [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Asian-American Tim Drake, Bart Says What's on My Mind, Bart is Well-Meaning, Bart is a Motor Mouth, Bickering, Bluepulse got their shit together when no one was looking, But also this is literally TimKon so of course it's not Supermartian friendly, Energy Drinks as Sleep Substitute - Tim no, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Half-Korean Tim Drake, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I wanted them to kiss but the opportunity did not present itself, Identity Reveal, Introspection, Kon is lowkey "The Mom Friend", M/M, Mild Angst, Mild Language, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Public Restrooms are Gross, Red Bull, Song: Heather (Conan Gray), Sweaters, This isn't Supermartian friendly - a warning, This was supposed to be depressing but I needed fluff so it's not depressing, Tim Drake Needs a Nap, Unrequited Love, Yes - that is what I want my first tag to be, i saw that tag used once and was so offended - naturally i had to use it myself lol, no beta we die like robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27455530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWitchBoy/pseuds/TheWitchBoy
Summary: The sleeves were too long, the shoulders were too wide, the collar was a bit stretched out. It was nothing like his own sweaters, not high-end or tailored. Barely name-brand. Because Conner never cared about stuff like that.
Relationships: Bart Allen & Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent, Bart Allen/Jaime Reyes, Kon-El | Conner Kent/M'gann M'orzz (past), One-Sided Dick Grayson/Wally West (mentioned) (blink and you miss it), Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Series: Angst [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116992
Comments: 17
Kudos: 171





	Heather Gray

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by Conan Gray's song Heather, which I listened to many times and tried to make my plot, but that would have been depressing and I'm already lowkey depressed, so I made it sweater-centric(ish) fluff, instead.
> 
> As usual: wonky formatting is, of course, wonky.

_ Get a grip, Drake,  _ he told himself.

He curled his fingers around the cuffs, folding them into his palm. The sleeves were too long, the shoulders were too wide, the collar was a bit stretched out. It was nothing like his own sweaters, not high-end or tailored. Barely name-brand. Because Conner never cared about stuff like that.

"Thanks," Tim said. He couldn't meet Conner's eye, but he saw the shrug.

"Sometimes I forget how sensitive normal people are to temperature extremes," Conner said.

Tim snorted, earning a smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Us, normal? Any of us?" Conner shook his head. He was in his usual tee shirt, subtle as the Bat Signal. And just the right fit. God, his arms. His  _ chest _ . "You know what I mean, though. Humans."

"Yeah, I know," Tim said. He averted his eyes again.

He hadn't brought appropriate civilian outerwear, though he'd had reason to think he'd be on-mission and then headed home immediately, not hanging around Happy Harbor with the Team. Ah, the unpredictability of weather in conjunction to Zeta Tube upgrades. And New Jersey winter, which had put the Gotham Zeta out of commission and stranded Tim. So, when Bart managed to get a group together to go waste some time in town, Tim had thrown on whatever he'd had, which consisted of a faded Flash tee shirt (that he hoped was Bart's, since the alternatives were both depressing) and old jeans. He knew he could tough the December chill out.

Conner, though.

Tim didn't know what gave him away, but Conner had pulled his sweater over his head and mother- henned Tim into putting it on, instead.

It smelled like him.

God, Tim felt like such a creep.

"Looks better on you, anyway," Conner said. And he. He couldn't just  _ say  _ things like that! It wasn't fair.

Tim glanced at him, face carefully blank, even behind the security of his Bat-issued sunglasses. "I doubt it."

Conner was built like a Greek god, everything looked better on him.

Conner laughed and clapped a hand to Tim's shoulder. "No, I'm serious!" he said. "On me it's just," he shrugged. "Tight."

_ Tight in all the right places, maybe.  _ Tim bit his tongue and narrowly avoided giving his friend another thorough once-over. There was no way Conner would miss it while they were mid-conversation.

"On you it's  kinda cute," Conner finished.

_ Oh, god _ , Tim thought. "Should I be insulted?" he forced out half a laugh. Just enough of a laugh where it didn't sound uncomfortable, but enough where it would be clear he was joking.

Conner snorted and glanced away. He didn't look back, immediately.

Tim felt his heart hollow out a little. He knew that look. And, yeah, if he followed Conner's gaze, that look was aimed at  M'Gann , laughing with Artemis and Zatanna. Tim wished, irrationally, that the Leaguers had done something else, leaving the Team be. But they'd all been Team, before, so the thought was ridiculous. He just didn't want  M'Gann around.

Tim's mouth tasted a bit sour. He dropped his gaze. He almost thanked Conner again, but that would have drawn Conner's attention back to him. Conner would definitely notice the stiff line of Tim's shoulders, the downward curl at the corner of his lips. He was ridiculously good at reading Tim, and Tim couldn't explain why he was suddenly sulking and upset. Instead, Tim silently slipped from Conner's side to walk with Bart and Jaime, instead. They were usually too wrapped up in each other -- in dancing around each other, anyway -- that Tim was pretty sure his dour mood would go unnoticed.

Of course, underestimating Bart was inviting trouble.

"Hey! Hey, Buddy!"

Tim winced. But at least it wasn't 'Tim,' this time. "Hey," he returned.

Bart glanced at Tim, then Jaime, back at Tim, over at Conner, and, finally, back to Tim. "So," he said.

Tim burrowed into the sweater a bit. He felt really stupid, and kind of wanted to cry. And, of course, Dick was off god knew where, the  one time Tim would have welcomed his slightly-less-emotionally-constipated(-than-other-Bats) presence. Dick would have given him the kind of silent solidarity that would comfort Tim without embarrassing him. Dick also wouldn't ask questions around the others, because he was good like that. Sometimes. Bart, though...

"That's Conner's, right?" Bart smiled, somewhere between sly and amused.

"Yeah, he caught me coat-less," Tim mumbled. He hunched in on himself, shoulders pulling up around his ears.

"This is Jaime's!" Bart said, doing a little turn to show off the obviously stolen blue hoodie.

Jaime, on his other side, rolled his eyes so hard that Tim could have sworn he could hear it. "Not really surprising," Tim said. "Didn't you sleep over at his, last night?"

"Yeah! Me 'n Milagro helped Mrs. R make empanadas!" The usual efforts Bart went to, to sound like he couldn't do a Mexican-Spanish accent to save his life, were forgotten in his excitement over the homemade food.

Jaime's smile warmed, but neither he nor Tim pointed it out.

"That's cool," Tim said.

"Yeah, yeah," Bart waved him off. "Enough about me -- I know,  _ sooo _ __ difficult, right? -- what about you Conner?"

Tim glanced over at Conner, then sharply back to Bart. "What about it?"

Bart made a face Tim couldn't quite parse. Pursed lips  puled into a taut line, wide eyes, raised eyebrows, shifty gaze. He also raised his hands, palms outward, in a placating gesture. "Guess not, then. Man, that sucks." He dropped his hands.

Tim, however, was alarmed. He looked from Bart to Jaime for help.

Jaime nodded back towards Conner.

Tim glanced over and felt his heartbeat ratchet up even higher. Oh god. Oh god, his heartbeat. Tim met Conner's eye for a second, then turned back to Jaime and Bart. "Shit," he pinched the bridge of his nose and immediately employed one of the many breathing techniques he'd painstakingly memorized. He closed his eyes, continuing to walk with the group regardless, and forced his heartbeat down.

When he opened his eyes again, both Jaime and Bart were looking at him with concern, and trading looks. "What?" he snapped.

" _ Hermano, _ " Jaime started, but he shook his head.

"Do you, like, talk to BC?" Bart asked.

"What?"

"That wasn't an anxiety attack?" Bart pointed at Tim's chest.

" _ What _ ?" Tim wondered when he'd become so transparent. "Whoa, back up."

Bart shook his head. "Never mind, I guess. Uh. I guess I just wanted to know if,  ya know," he shrugged. "I think you'd be good together, and I know you like him..."

" _ What _ ?" Tim's voice pitched higher than he thought it could go. "How I...  _ what _ ?"

"I mean, I've seen how you look at him," Bart said.

"Oh my god," Tim covered his face. Incidentally, doing so crushed his sunglasses to his face, leaving them smudged on both sides. A surge of anger shot through Tim, but only for a second. He took a deep breath. "There's... nothing." He cleared his throat. "There's nothing between us, Bart," he said, as quietly as he could manage. From the way Jaime kept glancing past Tim, he felt pretty confident in the assumption that Conner could hear them, anyway. His ears warmed up at the thought. He managed to find a quieter tone. "He likes Megan," he mumbled.

Bart raised his eyebrows almost to his hairline, mouth a small 'oh.'

Jaime, though, frowned. He wasn't a gossip, but he ended up with all the gossip somehow. Once people got over his "talking to himself" thing, they tended to find him easy to talk to. Really easy. He wet his lips and hesitated. "I heard-- would they get back together, after everything?"

Tim did his best to not grind his teeth together. It pissed him off to think of how Conner had been taken advantage of.  _ She tried to  _ change  _ him _ , he thought, vicious and hurt in a way he didn't think he could be hurt on someone else's behalf. He glanced down at his shoes. "Uh, maybe. I don't know. And I'm not in a place to judge. I can't presume to make decisions for people, you know? Or, I  dunno , force them not to make decisions, I guess..."

"But if you never talk to him," Bart popped back in, "he'll never know there was another option!"

"Bart," Tim hissed. He hugged himself. In Conner's sweatshirt. His eyes felt a bit hot, behind his sunglasses.

"I'm all for redemption!" Bart wasn't subtle with his glance at Jaime, not by a long shot. "I mean, of course. Totally, right? Redemption! Yay! Um. But like. I think you'd be better--"

"No," Tim cut in.

"I think they could be great friends again, sure," Bart plowed on. He looked nervous, though. "But, look. The foundation's shit. Getting back together would be like falling for all the things soap opera couples fall for!"

"Oh no, you've been watching Mama's  telenovellas , haven't you," Jaime whispered, horrified.

"Not the point. Not the point!" Bart waved Jaime off. "If they get back together, those doubts are, like, still there. Those problems. People learn n' change n' shit, sure, but like. You. You don't get back with an ab--" Bart paused, probably to pick a kinder word choice. You know, just in case a half- Kryptonian decided to listen in, which he probably was, anyway. "You don't get back with someone who did stuff like that to you. They learned? Great. They changed? Awesome. But it's, like... it's a bad idea. And-and-and he's my friend, too,  Ti \-- Buddy."

Tim sighed.

A long silence, that couldn't have been more than five seconds, passed between them.

"I don't think he likes boys," Tim finally muttered.

"I didn't think I liked boys," Jaime offered. "Didn't even consider it until after Bart told me he liked me. I mean, boys were never really on the radar. But neither were girls. I liked one girl," he emphasized by lifting his hand, forefinger extended. "One person, before Bart."

Oh. "Oh." Tim looked between them. They... weren't dancing around each other, anymore, then.

Jaime darkened a little. " _ Si _ , uh. He told me he liked me, then ran off."

"Yeah, I panicked," Bart shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I thought about it," Jaime nodded. "And I didn't know if I liked him back, but I did know it didn't bother me -- the idea of being with him. But like. More I thought about it, more I thought I could like him, or maybe did like him. My head's a confusing place," he gave a wry smile. "But when I finally got a moment alone with Bart, I told him I didn't know how I felt about him -- and his expression was so sad I wanted to take it back, immediately! But I, uh, told him we could try dating, if he was sure he wanted a mess like me."

"Every fucking day," Bart muttered under his breath, smirking.

Jaime squeaked and turned to whack at him. "Not like that!"

"Like that!" Bart grinned at him. "And every other way, Blue. You're it for me," he winked and shot Jaime finger-guns.

Jaime scowled at him, but forced himself to look past Bart, back at Tim. " So we gave it a go. When I thought about  _ not  _ being with him, like, not doing dates and hand-holding and all that, I was... I couldn't do it. So, I figured out I  _ did  _ like him, but I wouldn't have if he didn't say something first. Like, I would have never thought to ask him out. Hetero was still the hardwired go-to, for me."

"Milagro says Jaime's had a crush on my for, like, a year," Bart said.

Tim gave a slow nod.

"Milagro lies," Jaime huffed. "I mean, usually. But she might be right. I didn't think about stuff like that until after the whole. Thing."

Tim ran a hand through his hair. "I need a bathroom," he said.

"Not quite the response I was expecting," Jaime smiled.

"My glasses are smudged," Tim shrugged. "I don't want to get a headache. But, uh. That's a nice story. How you got together, I mean. I can see what you're doing, trying to get me to talk  _ feelings  _ with him, but it's still cute. I'm glad you guys stopped beating around the bush. Because, yeah, I'm with Milagro, you guys have been absolutely... beyond frustrating."

Bart snickered. "I knew I was," he said. "But Jaime? Aw, pining Jaime! That's so cute! And you had a crush on me?" Bart put both his hands on his cheeks, even as Tim slipped quietly away, headed for a public restroom.

Behind him, Tim heard Jaime groan and say, "Stop that, we're literally dating! And you had a crush on me, too!"

A glance back told Tim that Jaime and Bart were bickering, and that the Team had taken notice of their previous statements. If Tim hadn't known they'd gotten together, chances were pretty good that most, if not all, the rest of the Team didn't know, either. It was a nice distraction, if nothing else, to help Tim get away from them all unnoticed.

Once he'd closed himself into the bathroom, Tim looked at his reflection in one of the dingy public restroom mirrors. Taking off his sunglasses didn't lessen the dinginess by much, but he caught himself with a tiny, small smile on his face. He tugged at the hem of the sweater. It was just a plain, generic sweater in a heathered slate gray, three- ish sizes too big. On his slender frame it was a ridiculously comfortable over-size, and the  colour kind of suited him. Blacks always looked good with his half-Korean genes. Granted, if Steph was to be believed, everything looked good with his Korean heritage backing him up.

God, he needed a haircut.

He reached up and touched the stretched-out collar. Damage clearly done by Conner at some point. He pursed his lips, biting down on the inside of his bottom lip. It was ridiculous, but he still kind of wanted to cry.

To be fair, he hadn't slept in going on sixty hours, so the emotionality was... understandable. He just wished it would hold off until he could wallow in peace.

The bathroom door cracked open, which prompted Tim to put his sunglasses back on, entirely without cleaning them. He cursed quietly and glanced at the door.

Of course, it was Conner.

"Hey, you disappeared on us," Conner smiled at him and walked past, toward the urinals.

"Glasses," Tim offered lamely.

Conner hummed in acknowledgement and did his business. Tim just stood at the sink the whole time, very carefully not glancing at Conner. A moment later, Conner stepped up to the  neighbouring sink to wash his hands. He offered Tim a quizzical smile. "Are you okay?"

Tim glanced at him out the corner of his eye. He debated his options, lies and half-truths alike. He knew he was taking too long, even before Conner's expression began to shift to concern. He glanced back away. "Not really," he finally sighed.

Conner turned and leaned up against the sink. "What's up? I mean, if you feel like sharing. If I can help..."

"I know," Tim smiled, soft and sad. "I think I just need sleep. Or a Red Bull."

"Those... aren't interchangeable"

" Sure they are," Tim scoffed. He turned to Conner and leaned a hip against his own sink. "I mean. It's not a one-to-one exchange, but it works."

Conner raised his eyebrows. "No. I'm pretty sure it doesn't work. How long's it been since...?"

Tim cut him off with a wave of his hand. "It's fine. I mean. I'm hopping between school, Team, boardroom, and patrol right now, besides casework. I make it work."

Conner mouthed 'boardroom,' eyebrows climbing higher.

"Uh."

"If that's what I think it is," Conner said slowly, "it means you probably need sleep pretty badly."

And it was a slip, so Conner was probably right. Though Conner probably thought it was a different kind of sleep, since kids -- or teens, whatever -- didn't exactly mix with boardrooms. Not unless their initials were TJD, or TJDW, he supposed. Tim shrugged. "I'm fine," he repeated. And, because he apparently loved making things difficult for himself, he tacked on: "It's not even the biggest thing bothering me, right now."   
"Oh? What is?"

Tim crossed his arms tightly over his chest. And the sweater. He pursed his lips and glanced away. "Sorry," he said.

"No, it's fine. I didn't mean to pry," Conner said. He shifted his weight off the sink. " Gonna join us?"

"Uh, I might check in, see if the Gotham Zeta is back online, yet," Tim said. He avoided looking at Conner.

A silence followed, heavy with something.

Tim glanced up.

That seemed to be what Conner was waiting for.

Conner wet his lips and glanced down -- in the vague direction of his sweater, or maybe the sink behind Tim's hip -- then back up at Tim's face. He hesitated. Then seemed to change his mind. "So, Bart and Jaime, huh?"

Tim snorted.

"I mean, we all knew, I'm sure," he continued. "But."

"But no one picked up on the moment it went from will-he, won't-he to dating," Tim offered.

"Yeah."

Tim looked down at the ground. It was a public men's restroom, so the dingy tile was also disgusting. He closed his eyes and pulled off his sunglasses to finally deal with the smudges. He silently went to work on the lenses with the hem of his tee shirt, from under Conner's sweatshirt.

Conner just watched, quietly, and shifted his weight.

Tim's gaze twitched beneath his eyelids, wanting to see what kind of expression was on Conner's face. But smart guy like Conner? Tim's identity would be done for, he was sure, if he actually looked at Conner without the  sunglasses barrier. Not least because Tim  _ really  _ wanted to tell Conner. It was something Tim had never given away on purpose, yet.

Not that he thought Conner would pry into his identity.

Tim finished cleaning the lenses and straightened to put them back on.  But, glasses raised almost to his face, he gave in and opened his eyes to look over at Conner, over the dark lenses. He tilted his head a little, lowering his sunglasses back down. Conner looked back at him, going from mild surprise to shock. They looked at each other for a few moments, then Tim dropped his gaze and put his sunglasses back in place.

"Your eyes are blue," Conner murmured.

"Mm," Tim agreed. He knew it was unusual for someone with his particular genes, but he also knew ow many eye  colours could be achieved with good eye contacts, so he wasn't overly concerned with someone knowing 'Robin has blue eyes.' He raised his gaze, but couldn't quite bring himself higher than Conner's shoulder. Which was a good two steps closer than it had been. Tim leaned back in surprise.

"Sorry," Conner said. But he looked focused. He reached up, then paused. "Can I?"

"What?" Tim blinked a few times. Then: "Oh." He nodded.

Conner gently took Tim's sunglasses back off his face, then seemed to look at him very intently, almost as if memorizing. " Your . Eyes are really pretty," he said.

And that was something else he shouldn't be allowed to say.

"Conner," Tim said.

Conner snapped out of his little reverie and smiled. "Seriously, though," he slipped the sunglasses back in place. "I bet there are people willing to kill for eyes like yours."

Tim snorted and felt himself turning red. "Yeah, okay."

Another silence fell between them, though the space between them was a hell of a lot less than it was before, and it was just as charged.

"Should we catch up with the group?" Tim asked. He felt the need to get away from the charge, before he did or said something that he would regret, or that could mess up his friendship with Conner.

"Um," Conner glanced at the door. "Well."

Tim raised an eyebrow and waited.

"I actually wanted to talk to you," Conner forced out.

"Okay?"

Conner looked back at Tim. "I'm. I'm not going to..." he sighed and scratched at the back of his neck. "I mean. It's..."

Tim felt his nerves rising a little. He could feel it like a knife in his chest, the possibility that this was about him, that maybe Conner had noticed him looking, or had heard him talking about him, or had figured it out. That maybe it was about trying to put some distance between them? Tim clenched his fists in the hem of the sweater and clenched his jaw, trying to wait it out. He was being ridiculous. If Conner wanted distance between them, he probably wouldn't have been standing right in Tim's personal space, would he?

"Megan," Conner managed, "and I... we're over."

"What?" Tim blinked, all his anxiety rolling over into a muddle of confusion and traitorous hope.

"We've been for a while. But it's. Not changing," Conner sighed. "She... we didn't work. We brought out the worst in each other, after a while. Or I brought out the worst in her, I don't know. It's something I'm still working through and wrapping my head around." He shrugged.

"I don't understand."

"I hope I do," Conner sighed.

"That doesn't help."

Conner chuckled. "No, probably not. Uh. I heard you guys? You and Bart and Jaime. I try not to eavesdrop so much, where I can help it, but I heard your... uh, probably creepy. I heard your heartrate change, like you were getting stressed or scared, so I... this is really difficult."

Tim was trying desperately to quash the hope, preparing himself for the 'but' in everything. He practically held his breath.

"I don't really..." Conner continued, slowly. He looked down at the tiles. "I don't know... if... no. That's not what I want to say." He was slowly starting to darken into an embarrassed blush. "I, um, I like boys," he managed.

Tim blinked very slowly.

"I mean, and girls. I like. People." Conner shrugged. "And, sure, I like Megan. But I don't  _ like  _ her anymore. Not the way I did."

"I'm pretty sure I haven't hit the hallucinatory part of sleep deprivation, but this is getting surreal," Tim put in. "Are you trying to... I don't know. What are you trying to do? Or say."

"I think Bart might be right," Conner said.

"That's such a loaded statement and I advise ever saying it around Bart, because it absolutely will go straight to his head," Tim said.

"We could be good together," Conner said, very quietly.

Tim leaned in, as if to hear him better. "Wait," he said, his chest a painful flood of anxiety and hope. "We... as in us? As in me?"

"I know you Bats don't really date around--"

"Uh,  Nightwing ," Tim interjected.

Conner opened and closed his mouth. "That's fair. But I meant, like. Serious dating. No offense to him."

Tim winced a little. He knew some of the reasons for Dick's lighthearted, serial dating habits, why so few of Dick's relationships were the kind he fully invested in or made solid ties in. The signs were there in fading red and yellow. In echoes of chances not taken. In losing everything. In losing everything without ever even having had the chance to  _ have  _ it in the first place. Dick hadn't been doing serious dating in a long time, but he was actively avoiding it lately. His heart was on a permanent lockdown, in hopes it wouldn't shatter again.

Tim cleared his throat. "Yeah. Okay. So... us?"

"Us," Conner agreed. "I'm not going to ask you for your secret identity or anything."

"Tim!" Tim said quickly, and too loud.

Conner jumped a bit.

"Sorry, I mean. It's Tim," he fumbled with his sunglasses, taking them off again. "If there's a you-and-me kind of 'us,' then I want it to be Tim-and-Conner, Conner-and-Tim. Not Robin. I mean, also Robin. Dating's hard when it's only half your life... if-if-if that's what's. If that's where we're heading?"

"If you want to."

"Do you?"

"Yeah," Conner breathed.

Tim nodded slowly, smile spreading over his face, incredulous and still not quite believing what was happening. "Bart's never going to let me forget this. Or you. Us. He's not going to let  _ us  _ forget it."

He finally caved and let the stupid tears spill over, this time, when they came knocking.

"Shit," Conner stepped forward. He looked worried and giddy at the same time, somehow. He wrapped his arms around Tim, and Tim returned the gesture. "You good."

"No. No, I'm great. I think. I think I'm having an emotional meltdown," Tim rambled. "It-it's Tim Drake, by the way."

"Tim Drake," Conner hummed.

Tim, with his ear against Conner's chest, felt and heard the hum in equal parts. Somehow, that -- above everything else -- made it all seem real. "This day is so stupid. Days aren't allowed to have this many lows and highs."

Conner's hum became a chuckle. "Well, as long as it ends on a high," he shrugged and tightened his hold on Tim. "So... dating?"

"Yes! Yeah. Please."

"Cool," Conner said. "Boyfriends, then?"

"God, yes," Tim felt a shiver of pleasure travel from his scalp to his toes. Conner was his  _ boyfriend.  _ Or this was a hallucination. But, if it was a hallucination, Tim decided he didn't want to leave. Ever. He'd live in Arkham if he had to, just to keep this moment.  _ And that's just not healthy _ , he told himself. Maybe he should talk to Black Canary? It was something to consider.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back to trying to write (again) and flipflopping between what to write for NaNoWriMo. This was one day's wordcount contribution. I kind of like it? I dunno. It's okay. I guess. (lol)
> 
> I'm not really a fan of how I ended it.


End file.
